After The Climb
by notbrittany
Summary: The story picks up in the lair after Oliver leaves in episode 3.09. It's a theoretical what-comes-next, an attempt at closure to help make it through the mid-season hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

She wanted to break down. It would be the easiest thing in the world to collapse on the cold cement floor at her feet and shatter into a million pieces.

"_I love you"_ echoed in the air with finality that those words never should hold. In all the ways she had imagined that revelation, whenever she pictured him walking away afterwards, she had always run after him. But she couldn't. Where he was going, she couldn't follow. It was worse than any mission, worse than when he'd run back to Lian Yu. How could she follow if she didn't know where he was going?

How could she live if he didn't make it back?

"_It'll be fine. I'll come back. Thea will be okay_."

The words came back, resonating around his confession until they were her prayer. "_I'll come back. I love you. It'll be fine._" And that was the reason she could not give in. If Oliver still had hope, then so would she.

With a breath that was more like a gasp, she steadied her shaking legs and tottered over to sink into her chair. She turned to face her babies, fingers coming to rest over the keyboard, but it was the sound of footsteps, John and Roy returning, rather than the sound of typing that drowned out the erratic rhythm of her breaths.

"He leave?" Diggle asked softly, like he would talk around Sarah.

All she could manage was a tiny nod, but it was enough. Roy's sharp intake of breath and another footstep, then Digg's heavy hand on her shoulder lent her strength. She wasn't alone. They were in this together, the three of them, waiting for his return.

When night fell, the Foundry was unnaturally calm. Felicity turned from her computers. Indulging in weakness, she had been staring blankly at them for hours, but her eyes drifted up to the still Salmon Ladder and she knew it was enough. "I'm going home now," she announced to Diggle and Roy. The men looked up from where they stared at the ground, Diggle on the couch, Roy leaning against a table covered with unfinished arrows. She stood, thankful her legs would hold her. "But I'll be back tomorrow night. Digg, can you wear the suit? We should keep on until...until he comes back."

The look in their eyes told her they didn't expect his return. No matter. Oliver had hope—when had that ever happened? He always relied on others to give him hope. So this time, she would hope because of him, and her hope would have to sustain the whole team.

Roy set down the arrow he'd been twirling absently. Digg's shoulders straightened and he nodded once. They would go on. They were still Team Arrow, even in Oliver's absence.

"_It'll be fine. I'll come back._"

That would have to be enough.

* * *

><p>Since the moment they met over that broken laptop, Felicity could always read Oliver. The one exception was the night of Slade's siege, but even then, she could never decide if he had fooled her or told the truth. At his good-bye, she would have sworn in a court of law that he was telling the truth, that every word he told her was nothing but hard fact.<p>

Hours turned to days. The team kept up appearances in the city, settling petty crimes, keeping the people safe. The Arrow and the Arsenal were seen. The trio were more in the Foundry than ever before—yet the room under the club had never been calmer or quieter.

Days turned into weeks. She dodged all of Ray Palmer's attempts to involve her in his A.T.O.M. suit and personal hero complex. She saw his confusion when he looked at her, knew he saw the light draining from her bit by bit. Hesitation entered his once-confident step. She tried to reassure him with a pasted-on smile, but she had never been an actress.

Weeks turned into months. Her searches turned up the faintest hints of League movement in distant regions of the world, and Felicity forced herself to accept that Oliver had finally managed to lie to her. _The League would be gone, or he would have been back by now_. That was one thing she knew. If he had won, if he had done what she asked, nothing could have kept him from coming back to her.

Ray Palmer often found her standing at near the glass wall of her office, Oliver's old office, looking out over the city he loved—had loved. More and more often, now, her preoccupation made her miss Ray's approach. One day, she jumped to feel him lay a hand on her back. His blue eyes looked down on her with understanding. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm so sorry. It doesn't get better…but after a while, I guess you kind of learn how to live without them. If you need any time off…"

She shook her head and thanked him, and they pretended the conversation never happened.

Months turned into almost a year. Roy and Digg still kept the city safe, she still kept the two of them safe, and life went on around them, but Ray was wrong. She couldn't figure out what life was like without Oliver in it.


	2. Chapter 2

On the eve of the anniversary, they stood together in the Foundry. "Take tomorrow off," she told Roy and Diggle. "Be with Thea, be with Lyla and Sarah."

"What about you?" Roy asked.

"I'll be fine."

"Felicity," Digg said.

She held up her hands, plain fingernails no longer catching her eyes as unusual. "I'll be fine, don't worry. Enjoy your women. I mean—oh, you know what I mean."

Nothing more was said. They filed out the door, alarm beeping behind them. John went home to his wife and daughter and Roy saw Felicity home. With a squeeze on her shoulder and a hushed, "Call if you need anything," he disappeared into the shadows to make his way to the apartment he shared with Thea.

Felicity was left alone in a spotless apartment with a tub of forgotten mint chocolate chip ice cream gathering freezer burn behind stacks of tasteless frozen dinners.

The morning of the anniversary, she dutifully went through the motions of getting ready. She dressed in a serviceable grey dress and ate what was probably stale cereal. Then somehow she found herself simply sitting at her desk, staring into space.

At 10 o'clock am, Ray breezed into the room, breaking her out of a haze of blank thoughts. "Hey, Felicity, how're things coming on our device?"

She should have known instantly to what he was referring, but her brain could not decide which device he was talking about. The stack of projects beside her keyboard hadn't moved since she sat down. She doubted it would move the rest of the day. The burden of carrying on like nothing was different, like it was just any other day and not the day when light left her world, was suddenly too much to bear in his old office. "Ray, I need to take the rest of the day off," she asked.

His forehead ticked. After an uncharacteristic brief pause, he said, "Okay. Yeah, take all the time you need." She grabbed her purse and headed toward the exit, but he stuck his shoulder out to delay her. "Felicity. You know I'm here if you need help, right? If there's anything I can do, or anyone I can get for you…"

"Thank you," she said. "I'll be…I just need to go home."

"Do you need a ride?" he suggested.

A ride was a good idea, but he might take that as an invitation to stick around. He would ask questions, Ray always asked so many questions, and she had no energy to dodge them with half-truths. "No, I'll be fine."

It was a lie.

When her door locked behind her, she moved through the apartment in slow motion, discarding her outfit and climbing into pajamas. She flipped through the television and scrolled through Netflix for ten minutes before clicking "Off" and pulling her knees up under her chin.

And so she sat, until grey shadows chased all the color out of the room. _Oliver is dead_, she rolled the words over in her head, testing them out. They weren't sharp like a dagger; no, they were dull and heavy like an old brick. _Oliver is dead._ Her tablet lay dark on the table beside her, her computers were still across town. No search turned up even the faintest hint of his presence.

She would try no more. Dead men left no traces she could find.


	3. Chapter 3

A rap on the door finally called Felicity from her stupor. The only light in her apartment came from the green glow of the clock on her DVD player and from the glow of streetlights streaming through her window. With a grunt, she forced her stiff joints to stand and flicked on a lamp. Undoing the complex series of locks on her door—she hadn't felt safe in a year—she asked, "What is it now, Ray?"

The door swung inward, letting in the gold glow from the hallway and a sight that stole all possibility of words from her lips. There he was, shoulders hunched under a plain black shirt, fists shoved into jeans. His head lifted and his blue eyes sought hers with instant accuracy. Her subconscious recognized that his face looked somehow younger but more care-worn, and about that time, her halting voice reached her mouth.

"Oliver," she stuttered.

"Felicity." His shoulders dropped and he staggered forward, hands stretching toward her.

She stumbled backward as quickly as he approached. "You're dead. You—you were dead. You left, and my searches…." Her mind shuddered back into gear. Her voice rose. She moved toward him, finger coming out to poke his chest. "The League was in Peru, Hungary, Thailand, and you would have let me know—how dare you. How dare you! You can't just go and let people think you're—you were _dead_. How dare you. You can't just do that and come back and act like it's okay, like we should have known. I thought you were dead! You were dead. You were dead, you were dead, you were dead."

Somewhere along the way, her poking turned to punching, then her yelling turned to weeping. The past year's pain came to a head at once. Sobs shook her. With what breath she could catch, she kept repeating, "You were dead."

Strong arms wrapped around her, cradling her to his chest. A hand stroked her hair, loosening the ponytail. "Sh," he whispered to the top of her head.

A sob caught in her throat. She choked on it and started coughing. Coughing turned to gasps, and then she was hyperventilating.

Oliver half-led, half-carried her the couple steps to her couch, where he sat them down. "Felicity. Hey, Felicity." His hands wrapped around hers. "Look at me. Focus on your breathing." He cupped her cheek with one hand, then returned it to hold onto hers.

The constant pressure and warmth grounded her. She struggled to return her breathing to normal, making her lungs expand and contract more slowly. When she no longer felt about to faint, Oliver gave her a wan smile. "Is that better."

She nodded, laying her glasses on the coffee table and wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "I can't stop crying," she apologized and pulled away. "I don't know why. I didn't cry when you were gone. Just give me a minute, I can—I can make it stop." She fanned her face and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Sadness dimmed his eyes. An arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her to lean against him. "It's okay. There's nothing wrong with crying."

With her head tucked under his chin and her hand gripping the fabric over his chest, she cried on until her body ran out of tears. After her eyes dried, she fumbled for her glasses and pushed back so she could look into his face. "Tell me what happened." It was somewhere between a command and a request.

A debate flashed over Oliver's face. She almost decided he wasn't going to tell her, that, just like the island, he would wait and only reveal pieces and parts when it suited him—and her heart sank.

Then he sighed and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees. "Okay."


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: This chapter consists of my interpretation of numerous fan theories I've read, from people far better acquainted with DC comics than I am. Neither the theories nor the characters are mine; I'm just playing around with them._

* * *

><p>"I fought him on a high mountain peak in the snow. I say fought; I was more like a child swinging at a grown adult. It was as bad as when I first trained with Yao Fei and Slade."<p>

"Oxygen deprivation," Felicity interrupted. He raised an eyebrow, to which she held her hands up. "Sorry. I just—oxygen deprivation can make you act like you're drunk. Your body doesn't even realize what's happening. I mean, it's not like you usually train at high altitudes, sooo…"

"Maybe," he allowed. "Anyway, it was short. He stabbed me through the lung—" he clutched at the spot—"and pushed me off a cliff."

"How high was it?"

"High."

"But there's no way you could have survived that."

"I know."

She stood and crossed her arms, moving away from him. "Don't joke about that! I really thought you were dead."

"Felicity, I'm serious."

"But you're here. Oliver, you can't have died. It's impossible. Please."

"There are these…springs, some sort of natural spring, with special properties. It's how the Demon's Head is so old. Their waters can take years off of your life, heal grievous injuries, even…"

"Even…bring back the dead," she filled in. His silence confirmed her suggestion, and all the strength left her legs. She dropped back down to the tan couch with a soft, "Oh."

When he continued, his voice was deep and raspy. "It was horrible. It felt like I was being ripped apart. It drove me insane, and I have no real memory until the insanity wore off. Then there he was." He trailed off with a white-knuckled grip on his knees. A year ago, she would have rested a hand on his arm, told him that he was strong enough to relive the memory. A year was too long, long enough that all she could do was sit silently next to him and wonder if it would be best for him to tell her everything or stop there.

He decided for her. Slowly, carefully, with every word painstakingly chosen, he went on. "He showed me a mirror. I hardly recognized myself in it. All the…well, you can see." Before she realized what was happening, he pealed the white shirt over his head. The skin underneath was foreign, the familiar scars and tattoos that marked him as her Oliver were gone. "He said, 'You are a new man, Al Mawte. I have given you life; you belong to me now.' Since then, they have trained me and sent me on a hundred missions."

A "no" forced itself from her mouth. She asked, "How could you let them do that? Our last year, after Merlyn—you changed. You're not a killer anymore."

The eyes he turned to her brimmed with guilt and despair. "The name Ra's gave me literally means 'death.' And I had to. They threatened Thea, you, my city."

"I don't care. None of that is worth your soul. Oliver, you have to leave them."

"Felicity, you know that's impossible. Look what happened to Sarah. I—I have two weeks. Then I have to go back."

"No," she refused. She cupped his face between her hands, running her thumbs over the heavy stubble of his beard. "We'll find another way."

What could be called a small glimmer of hope added a weak light to the back of his eyes. "How?"

"I don't know. I—my brain is really tired right now. But we'll find one. There's always another way."

Neither said any more. Oliver's arm found its way over her shoulder to hold her close to his side, and Felicity's cheek came to rest against his chest. In fewer than fifteen minutes, both were asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Too much heat on her right side lazily drew Felicity from sleep. Sudden awareness that she couldn't feel her left leg, combined with irrational fear that it would fall off if she did not immediately return circulation to it, jerked her the rest of the way into wakefulness. She twitched and found herself entangled in the granny square afghan that usually draped across the back of her couch.

Beside her, Oliver stirred. Memory of the past night returned, erasing confusion about her unusual location. His arm reached to draw her back against his side, and a smile stretched across her face of its own accord. The expression felt unfamiliar from disuse, yet at the same time it felt satisfying and very, very right.

"Morning," Oliver grunted, squeezing an eye open and stretching his free arm.

"Morning," she answered. She felt airy and full of light. Sometime in the night, she had accepted the reality of his presence in life and released the delusion of his death.

A fond half-smile lifted Oliver's mouth and softened his eyes. "I missed your smile."

"I did, too. I mean, I missed your smile. Not that you've really smiled yet—and not that I didn't miss my smile, because it hasn't happened a lot recently, but that's kind of beside the point. I just—why don't you stop me when I ramble anymore? Stopping myself right about…now."

She felt him shake in what could have been a soft chuckle. Knocking on her door interrupted any response he might have given.

When she rose with a sigh to answer it, he grabbed her hand. "Are you expecting anyone?" His voice was low and his blue eyes alert.

"Not exactly," she found herself whispering back. "But it's probably Ray, or Mrs. Fernandes looking for her cat."

Something akin to disappointment flitted across his face and he let go of her. "You thought I was Ray last night."

"He just shows up at the most unexpected times, full of ideas and plans. It's annoying, really. It's not hard enough that I've got one job that calls me at all hours, I have to have two," she rolled her eyes.

He rose and held up a hand. "Let me answer it."

"Oliver!"

His head dipped, and his gaze fixed her in her tracks. "Felicity, it might not be them. It might be…"

A chill returned. _The League_. "All right." She gave a tiny nod.

Oliver padded to the door on silent feet, and she edged after him. Positioning himself to block the entrance, he turned the doorknob—neither had remembered to lock the door after his appearance—and cracked the door open.

Ray Palmer strode forward without preamble. "I was thinking all yesterday and came up with a plan for how…" The man blocking his path killed his momentum, though Oliver stepped out of the way once he ascertained Ray was alone.

Without realizing it, Felicity stepped closer to Oliver, smiling once again. Her boss's eyes darted between the two of them. She prompted, "You were saying about your plan?"

"Ah." His head tilted back. "I see. I, uh, come to think of it, it looks like my plan's obsolete. Mr. Queen! I thought I heard that you were presumed dead this past year. You're developing quite the reputation for coming back from the dead."

She couldn't help herself for muttering, "You have no idea."

"Palmer," Oliver tipped his head. "I was just…checking up on some old employees after a…long trip."

"Yeeaahhh," Ray drawled. "Somehow, I don't think—"

"What was your plan?" Felicity tried to steer the conversation back to safe grounds.

"Did I say plan? Oh, it was nothing. Just wanted to check up on you and be sure you were okay—which I can see you clearly are." He kept his voice light as always and cast a significant look in Oliver's direction.

"Oh! Um, yeah, I…"

Ray shoved his hands in his suit pockets. "No need to explain. I'll just be going, then. Felicity—see you in the office whenever you, uh, feel up to it. Queen."

"Palmer."

"I'll just," Ray began, and made a show of closing her front door behind him to finish his sentence.

As soon as his footsteps faded, Felicity sprang toward the door and cranked all her locks, then she pressed her back against it. "Oh god. That was embarrassing."

"Yeah," was Oliver's monosyllabic reply.

"Soooo…the secret's out?" she offered.

"Mm." His face was unreadable.

"We should tell our people before they find out from someone else?" she suggested. "Diggle and Roy—"

The way his face lit up at their names decided it, though, "Good idea," was all he said.

She grinned and flew into motion. "Right. I'll text them to meet in the Arrow Cave, and we'll get this started."

"Please tell me you don't still call it that."

She laughed. "Of course we do. It's a great name, and it's really caught on. You can make coffee while I change—you do remember how to make coffee, right?"

"Of course."

Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way.


	6. Chapter 6

The Lair door clanged shut. "What's up, Felicity?" Diggle's deep voice asked as he padded down the stairs behind her.

She swiveled toward him and found him alone. "Wait until Roy's here," she said.

He paused by her desk and cocked his head at her, searching her face. Then his eyes squinted and his jaw ticked. "You're kidding."

"What? No, I just—what I have to tell you would be best with both of you here."

"Where is he?" Digg scanned the Arrow Cave.

"I don't know. I could ping his phone, but he'll probably be here in a—Digg, what's gotten into you?"

He sighed. "Felicity, I can see he's alive. Where is he?"

"I—I don't…"

Before she could make any excuses, Oliver stepped out from the shadows with a, "Hey, Diggle," just as the door clanged open to admit Roy. Diggle crossed his arms with a scowl. Roy made a strangled noise and banged down the steps to throw his arms around Oliver.

Felicity complained, "There goes my 'You should probably take a seat before I tell you my super important news' speech!"

Oliver simply chuckled and returned the boy's embrace. "Hey, Speedy." But all the while, his eyes were on his first partner, who was still scowling.

"I don't understand. How are you here? We all thought you were…" Rod couldn't finish his sentence.

"To be fair, that was all part of my speech," Felicity pointed out.

"I was," Oliver told Roy.

Diggle's fists moved to his hips. "Oliver."

"He's telling the truth," Felicity offered. "Just—just listen to what he has to say."

He told them what he had told her, showed his unblemished skin as proof. To objections, Felicity said, "Metahumans." When he finished, Roy dropped onto the nearby couch. "What do we do?"

"I have to go back," Oliver said, glancing sideways at her, and Diggle simultaneously said, "Well, that's easy. We fight."

"No," Oliver refused. "Absolutely not."

John shifted where he leaned against her desk. "It's the only option," he calmly stated.

"Are you serious? It's not an option. This is the _League_ of _Assassins_. It would be suicide."

Felicity half-raised her hand. "Actually, Diggle has a point. I mean, it's the only way to get them to leave us alone once and for all. And it's not like it's just us against them this time. We've got Barry and his metahumans—a couple have joined him this year, Firestorm, Strongman, I think they just got another guy—and they've got some weapon technology; there's Ray and his A.T.O.M. suit; the Canary and Wildcat—"

"I can talk to Lyla," Diggle offered. "I'm sure Amanda Waller wants the League running around about as much as we do."

By now, she was on her feet, gesturing as she spoke. "I can track Malcom Merlyn. He might join in, too—the whole 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' type of thing."

"Thea will join us," Roy added, standing up.

"We'll build an army!" she said.

Oliver held his hands up. "Wait. I don't want Thea brought into this. She can't know."

Roy coughed, Diggle raised an eyebrow at Felicity, and she clenched her fingers to keep herself from wringing her hands. "About that…um, yeah, she already knows." He opened his mouth, so she held her hands up and rushed on. "Hear me out. Malcom found out the League—at least, Nyssa—knew you weren't Sara's killer, so he still had Thea as a contingency plan. We had to tell her, Oliver. It was the only way to keep her from going off and trusting her father." She hesitated, then added, "She thinks you were a hero."

He was quiet. The empty nightclub above did nothing to distill the silence. Part of her started to worry he would not forgive them, that he'd leave right then and return to the League.

At length, Diggle broke the silence. "We had to do it, man."

Oliver sighed. "Okay. But I can't ask all those people to risk their lives for me. I won't."

"It's not just for you," Felicity said. "Any one of the others could get on the bad side of the League at any time. Together, we actually stand a chance of defeating the League and protecting ourselves."

They watched a debate rage inside him. She reached out and rested a hand on his arm. "Please, Oliver," she murmured. "For all of us."

His shoulders straightened. "All right. Let's get to work."


End file.
